Passport Please
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: Making travel arrangements and keeping agents on schedule is one thing, but sometimes a girl needs to think outside the box to best serve her clients.


As a young girl, I was always the organizer of the family. I would arrange things, like tea parties and playground excursions for my dollies and me, grand expansive things the likes of what no man had ever seen. School brought schedules and they were good things; I liked the order and control they represented. I liked knowing that something was going to happen at a certain time. It didn't destroy my day when a schedule was altered, but I would work tirelessly to get back on it as soon as possible.

It only made sense that I take that love of organizing and do something with it. After school, I was wandering between various low paying jobs that covered the rent, but left me less than enthused at the end of the day. I was walking home from checking groceries at Swanson's and that's was when my fate was suddenly decided. There was an ad in the window of a travel agency – 'help needed, no experience necessary.' Needless to say, with my love of arranging things, my near hero worship of schedules, being a travel agent was a no-brainer. Within a month, I had worked my way through every slick brochure, every training manual, every air, bus, train schedule the office had. In two months, I was promoted and within six, I was the assistant manager. Working with people to arrange their perfect vacation was a dream come true and I thought it couldn't get any better.

That's when the call from UNCLE came. Have you heard of them? Didn't think so, most people haven't and those who have, well, they don't talk too much about it. It's not always their own choice, but that's another story for someone else to tell. Through a series of events I'm still confused about, I walked through the public entrance to UNCLE HQ and my world was rocked to its core. I was home and never wanted to leave.

My job at UNCLE is simple. I get people from Point A to Point B, usually quickly and at a moment's notice. It doesn't have to be pretty, but it almost always has to be fast. The people I support, well, frequently their lives depend upon it.

I make all the travel arrangements for the Section One administrators, even their private vacations. They are important to the organization and need protection at all time. We have to work with people we trust, so they come to me for that resource.

However, it's the Section Two boys who are the challenge. They always are on a dead run from one affair to the next. Affairs, that's what they call their assignments. I'm not sure why. Anyhow, if there's an, "I need to be on the next plane to Istanbul" or "Charter me a boat to Cuba" or "What's the fastest way to get from Naples to Salt Lake City, Utah?" it's going to be coming from a Section Two's lips. Their arrangements need to be fast, they need to be clean and they need to be safe. It's not easy. I remember the first time someone I'd made arrangements for was intercepted and cut down. A nice guy who had only been with UNCLE for a short time, he didn't know enough to be careful and I didn't know enough to not think it was my fault. If I'd made the connection tighter or used one of our fleet vehicles instead of a rental, would he still be alive? I nearly quit then but for the attentions of a suave and kind young agent. He was sweet, he was kind and he was "hot" on the list of every woman in the building.

I'm not going to tell tales out of school, but I went on my share of dates with Napoleon. And he was always the perfect gentleman. He knew what to say and when. He knew when to tease, but also when to quietly listen, really listen, to what you were saying. And he knew what 'no' meant. Not too many guys bother with that nicety. They take you out on a date and think it entitles them to a night in the sack. Not Napoleon, unless it's what you also want. The best part is he keeps it to himself afterwards. He doesn't boast and brag about what you did as if you were just a tick in his little black book.

Betsy and I were sitting in the bar not far from HQ a few nights ago. She works in the Human Resource division. The bar is frequented by a lot of our fellow employees, a "safety in numbers" kinda feeling. We all knew this was a pretty secure place to meet up after work. There are some tables towards the back of the room, usually the Section Two and Three agents will grab them, they like to be able to watch the front door, but tonight we'd scored one and were toasting the fact that we'd gotten through the week without losing anyone to bad connections or permanent disability. That's when I saw Illya Kuryakin walk in. The conversation choked for just a second, he has that effect on folks, and then started right back up. He found a stool towards the end of the bar and sat. A minute later, Napoleon entered, looking a little harried. He scanned the crowd, caught my eye and smiled, then spotted Illya at the bar. He joined him and dropped his hand onto one shoulder. After a second, Illya nodded and Napoleon sat.

"Looks like those two finally kissed and made up." Betsy murmured into her wine glass.

"What are you talking about?"

"Rumors on the second floor have it that they had the mother of all lovers' quarrel."

"Why do you listen to that crap when you know it isn't true? I've dated Napoleon. You've dated Napoleon. He isn't like that." My mind shot back to a day not so long past.

There is nothing more depressing than a rainy day in New York City and I was putting my mood to work by cleaning out file drawers. Even with a half dozen people working for me, there's never enough time to keep everything up to date and properly filed. Some days, the time tables are obsolete practically the moment we are handed them, but I've learned the hard way to hold on to them anyhow.

So, there I was, digging through a half year's worth of print-outs, reports, and announcements, when I heard a familiar voice.

"What's a man got to do to get a little service around here?"

"Napoleon!" I dropped what I was doing and was in his arms in a heartbeat, always delighted to see him safe and whole. "I haven't seen you in months. Where have you been keeping yourself?"

He released me and took a step back. _Odd, _I thought. Napoleon was never one to worry about personal space. "Oh, you know, Agnetha, here and there. It's the curse of the life of a spy; we're never in one spot for very long." He glanced around the room at the buzz of activity and then back to me. "Do you have some place a bit more private where we could talk?"

"For you, handsome, anything." I led the way back to my office and waited until he settled in a chair before I shut the door. No one would be likely to bother us with the door closed, but I had a feeling in my heart of hearts that an assignation was not what Napoleon was here for.

I couldn't get over how he'd changed since the first time we'd crossed paths. We both had, but this past year had been a hard one for him. The Old Man's health was starting to fail and Napoleon was getting ever closer to that number that would yank him out of the field. And there had been something else.

"Where is he, Agnetha?"

I knew, of course, what he was talking about and of whom, I'd made the arrangements while Mr. Waverly hovering over me like an expectant father. I smiled and shook my head. "Sorry, Napoleon, I don't know."

"Yes, you do and, yes, you will tell me." His voice had lost all its softness, its gentle persuasion, and I was allowed to see the actual agent. It frightened me down to my core.

I sat down at my desk and slid my finger underneath towards the security button. I never thought I'd have to use it, but Napoleon was suddenly that scary. If he escalated, I could have Section Three guys in my office in minutes. Hopefully that would be fast enough.

"I can't help you, Napoleon."

"You have to, Agnetha, don't you understand?" He stood and started to pace. "He's gone and no one will tell me where he is."

"Then there must be a reason."

"I need to talk to him. I just want to talk to him and know he's okay. I woke up in Medical and no one will tell me a thing." He dropped heavily back into his chair. "Agnetha, please, where is he?"

The old Napoleon would never have groveled, not for anything. But this Napoleon had been lured into a deadly cat-and-mouse game by a grudge-settling THRUSH crazy who had kidnapped Illya from Medical to use as bait. Then he'd nearly been killed by brainwashed Illya and then nearly tortured to death by him. Napoleon had been through the wringer lately mostly at the hands of his own partner.

"Napoleon, you're not the problem here. He is. " I wondered if I'd said too much from the sucker punch look Napoleon gave me. My finger drifted away from the button and I reached out to take his hands. They were ice cold and that was so very odd. "Napoleon, he needs a little head space here. He's done some terrible things to you and he needs time to reconcile it with himself."

"But I'm fine. What he did wasn't his fault. I know that and I'm okay with it."

"But he still did it, Napoleon, and he's not okay with it," I whispered. "You owe him the opportunity to make it right to himself again. Believe me, admitting to it and asking for help didn't come easy for Illya." I squeezed his hands again and smiled. "He needs time to forgive himself and he can't do it with you there."

He slid his hands out of mine, stood and shook his head. "I don't understand, Agnetha. I just need to talk to him."

There was a knock on the door and my assistant stuck his head in. "Sorry for the interruption, but Mr. Waverly is looking for you, Mr. Solo. He sounded pretty intense."

He nodded and walked from the room quietly. He suddenly looked so old and so defeated that I started to tear up. I sniffed and sighed.

"You okay, Miss Hawks?" Allen was all attention. He truly believed the director's couch worked both ways and he was keen to get on.

"I'm fine. Allergies." He shrugged his shoulders and withdrew quietly. I pushed the paperwork around on my desk, finding a card that I'd jotted information down on. I turned it over and over in my hand a few times, still hearing the plaintive note in Napoleon's voice. Then I came to a decision. I grabbed an interoffice envelope and tucked the card into it. Before I could lose my nerve, I scratched out the last name on the list and wrote Napoleon's name on it. Then I gathered an armful of documentation together and plopped all of it into my outgoing bucket. Five minutes later, that interoffice envelope was on its way to Napoleon's desk.

My mind jolted back to the present by Tally plopping a glass down in front of me. She grinned, knowing she'd surprised me. You don't get the chance to surprise people much when they work as or around spies. We tend to be a pretty alert breed as a rule. "I didn't order anything else, Tally." My Tom Collins was barely touched.

"Compliments of the blond at the bar and if you want to introduce me, I wouldn't hate it." She smiled again and slipped away.

"Blond? She mean Illya?" Betsy was all attention.

I looked over and saw him watching me out of the corner of his eye, one side of his mouth cocked up in a smile. Napoleon's hand rested on his arm and he leaned in close to Illya as they talked. I was relieved that I'm made the right decision in giving the address to Napoleon. I didn't know if what Betsy and the other rumormongers said was true and I didn't care. Friends, lovers, partners, it didn't matter. Those two needed to be together, that was obvious to anyone with eyes. And if I gave them a little nudge, so be it. After all, making arrangements, it's what I do…


End file.
